


Crimson Nightdrives

by basic_enby_ash



Category: Hotline Miami (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mild Smut, Nightmares, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:34:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29733960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/basic_enby_ash/pseuds/basic_enby_ash
Summary: Jacket and Biker are in for a surprise after a chance encounter with 50 Blessings brings them together.
Relationships: Biker/Jacket (Hotline Miami)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10





	1. Chance Encounter

**August 6th 1989**  
**Miami, Florida**

It seems like most of Jacket's nights were spent like this, eyes glued to the ceiling, the incessant ringing in his ears slowly driving him mad. Two months after his coma and time had lost any meaning. Each sleepless day flowed into the next, melding into a hazy miasma of rapidly fading memories. He had no purpose, simply stalking the streets of Miami in search for one.

A harsh neon light shone through his cheap blinds, casting the intricate patterns and defects of the woven fabric before him in a crimson glow. His eyes ran along the delicate lines as they shifted slightly with the air current, slowly forming into different overlapping patterns as the ringing faded. They swirled and merged, forming intricate shapes as the minutes ceaselessly ticked by.

Suddenly, the blaring honk of a car horn brought him back to reality. He had been dissociating, yet again. Jacket rolled over to check his bedside clock, praying that somehow he could get back to sleep before the next day.

_6:43 AM_

He groaned and rolled back over. It wasn't long ago he could fall asleep the moment his head hit the pillow, it was one of the few benefits of military experience. That was until he got a bullet in the head of course, now all that was left of his past was blurred memories and the tally every one had left on his body. How many bloody nights, how many loved ones lost, they all just seemed to blend into a dull miasma at this point.

Jacket's mind grazed over the scattered remains of his memory, picking at the dull recollections like a scab. Blurred faces passed before his eyes, the bloodied visages of friend and foe alike that had once been etched in stone, now eroded by time and trauma. He'd lost so much, at this point he wasn't even sure who he used to be or who he had become.

However despite the vast swathes of missing memories one remained unscathed by the ravages of time, that of his best friend. Hardly a day went by Beard didn't cross his mind. The young man had been the first person to help him feel welcome when he joined the military. Making a baby faced 18 year old fresh out of high school feel at home, even overseas. Fitting that his mind only kept the most painful reminders of his past.

"And still you let him die," an all too familiar voice came from the corner, accompanied by a red glow. Jacket looked towards the source of the noise, already grimly certain of what it was. A man, identical in every way to Jacket outside of a seemingly rubber rooster mask, was standing in the corner, "After everything between you two, you just left him to die" he hissed.

"That's not true," he groaned while covering his face in a pillow. Though even just saying it felt like a lie.  
  
The mask morphed into a sneer, "That's a nice thought but we both know how it turned out. You couldn't even avenge his death properly, all you did was go and get yourself shot. Not to mention your girlfriend of course, or did you already forget about her".

Jacket grimaced in silence. He nearly had forgotten, but despite his faded memory he still knew that he'd been the one who got her killed. His anger and hatred. His fear and regret. Everything he couldn't seem to leave behind had only gotten him manipulated into ruining his life and the lives of everyone around him. He got up, storming away and trying to ignore him. He was just desperate to get rid of him, finally abandon all the pain and torment of life, but he couldn't escape his own mind.

The man followed, taunting him all the way, "Hit a nerve did I. Well I can't say I'm surprised, and trust me, we're going to be stuck together until your final goddamn breath," he said as if reading his thoughts.

He arrived at the bathroom after what seemed like an eternity. Turning the faucet onto the coldest possible setting, he desperately splashed his face, trying to escape this waking nightmare.

Appearing in the mirror behind him, Richard continued his torment, "Christ you're pathetic, running away from your problems? Youre hardly even a man anymore. Why not fight me, or take your anger out on some innocents like old times?"

"They weren't innocents, they were Russians, they... they killed Beard," he weakly replied, grabbing the edges of the sink to ground himself.

"Again about him. Stop pretending like you have some sort of moral compass, you reveled in the violence and used some half decade old loss to justify it. I mean really I'm not sure why you deny it, killing was all you were good at."

"I..." he faltered. He tried to respond, to say everything that was on his mind, but he had nothing to say. All he wanted to do was scream at himself for what he'd become.

"Pathetic"

He looked back at the mirror, expecting to see Richard's familiar dead eyes, but it was only him. The red glow had completely faded, replaced only by dingy light from above. Frigid water dripped down his face, breaking the dead silence with rhythmic drops. Seeing his reflection, he realized that even with his nightmarish visions he could only ever be alone.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

**August 6th 1989**  
**Miami, Florida**

Jacket awoke in his bed, bathed in sunlight. Had he really fallen asleep? The last thing he could remember was being in the bathroom earlier, how long had it been since then?

1 _:17 PM_

He stood up and stretched, taking in the sounds of the busy world outside. The city was different in the day time, it was constantly teeming with life but in the sun it could almost pass is pleasant. Jacket's mind mulled over what to do now, a challenge that never seemed to get easier. It used to be so simple, he had a purpose and friends. Now all he could do was roam the city, spending his rapidly dwindling savings in an effort to feel whole again.

Finally he landed on getting breakfast, or lunch rather. After downing a glass of water he grabbed his wallet and made his way to a local diner he frequented. It was a picturesque sunny day outside, contrasted by the seedy city the light landed on. Avoiding cracks in the poorly maintained sidewalk he continued his leisurely stroll, feeling the warm sunlight fall on his face. Though it seemed like everything around him was falling apart from neglect or intentional destruction, he couldn't help but love Miami. As terrible as it was, for him it was a distraction from the internal workings of his mind.

After a few more minutes he found his way to the diner. Though he had only been frequenting it since the coma the place felt familiar, a safe haven. The bell chimed as he walked in, alerting his presence to a friendly waitress. He took a seat at the counter before pulling a notepad from his pocket and flipping to a page where he had written his usual order. Black coffee with eggs, sausage links and hash browns, classic and more importantly cheap.

"What can I getcha?"

Jacket gave her the notepad, hoping she could understand without making him speak.

She nodded understandingly. "I'll get right on that hun."

He let out a sigh of relief. It wouldn't be the first time he was left panicking while desperately scribbling and trying to explain himself as strangers eyes bored holes into him. Somehow he found it easier to kill than to just talk to a stranger.

Taking his thoughts off the past, he let his mind wandered as he stared at his hands on the counter. Eyes taking in every translucent hair and fold, all the intricacies he could slowly get lost in. He found himself like this quite often, his brain was obsessed with the intricacies of every day objects, for whatever reason he could just sense them better.

His trance was finally broken when he heard the door ringing from behind him. Jacket kept his eyes down, carefully listening for any sign of danger. He heard the stranger approach the counter and sit down, just one stool separating the two of them. Finally he looked up, his gaze unexpectedly meeting the man's captivating blue eyes.

Eyes matching the motorcycle helmet the man had just removed.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

**August 5th 1989**  
**Miami, Florida**

It's been 2 months since Biker began tracking down the culprits behind 50 Blessings and 2 months of dead ends. Although it hadn't been long, the cycle of death and violence was getting to him. He was far from incapable of the work mind you, but for him 2 months was comparable to an eternity, and the monotony was getting to him.

This time though, his efforts proved to be fruitful. After he finished cutting through the armed inhabitants of a local Blessings cover he knew where his next target would be, the Blue Dragon. The local Chinese restaurant was part of the vast chain of operations under 50 Blessings.

He was finally close to the end of the rabbit hole.

However, before his next assault on the elusive nationalists Biker would have to clean himself up. The man was quite a sight, not the ostentatious clothes mind you, but rather the trail of fresh blood covering them and creating a trail towards his motorbike. Not that it mattered to him all that much, it seemed like in Miami people couldn't care less about a mysterious man covered in blood, that or they were too busy indulging in whatever vice the city offered which had caught their eye.

As Biker revved up the engine and felt it rumble through his body, a light returned to his soul. Despite the monotony of his ludicrous circumstances, something about the open roads just never seemed to get old. Not to mention the attention of course, which was something he couldn't get tired of. His plea for attention didn't just stop at the bike either. The man was sporting fingerless gloves to show off his chipped blue nail polish, in addition to a pink vest and undershirt with rippling muscles to match. Every aspect of him seemed to scream "Look at me".

He sped out of the parking lot, careful to avoid the rapidly oncoming police arriving at the gruesome scene. Pulling a sharp turn around a corner he expertly weaved between stray cars before pulling up at a red light. Idling and waiting for it to turn green, Biker noticed that the car he was next to had a rather horrified looking couple in it staring straight at him. He chukled, sending a friendly wave to the car. It was then that finally allowed himself to soak in the humid neon tinged Miami night. He certainly didn't love the place, but for him it was home.

After what seemed like eons the light changed, and he quickly left before anyone could get a clue and write down his license plate. He expertly weaved through traffic like trout in a flowing river, ignoring the angry honks of cars he passed. Soon he noticed the surrounding buildings gradually transition from the bustling Miami shopping district to a slower, sleepier collection of cheap apartment blocks. His house was minutes away.

That was at least until his trained eyes spotted a man in an owl mask spray painting the distinct insignia of 50 Blessings onto a wall. Creeping tendrils of the militaristic groups territory seemed to grasp the city more firmly each day, and he refused to let it into his neighborhood. He came to a screeching halt, drawing attention from the masked figure. Quickly dismounting and keeping a hand close to his hidden butcher's knife, he approached the stranger.

The man quickly backed off and grabbed a pocket knife, trying his best to seem vaguely threatening. However before he realized it, Biker had disarmed him, letting the knife clatter to the ground. Swiftly pushing the stranger against the wall, he pulled his butcher's knife from the vests interior, holding it mere inches from the shaking man's throat.

Biker growled, "Just what in the hell do you think you're doing?"

"If you're gonna kill me just d-do it, it's better than what _they'll_ do to me if you don't."

He forcefully ripped his mask off and threw it to the ground, looking at the offender. It was only then that he noticed the trembling man couldn't have been older than 19, practically a kid. Loosening his vice grip he took a small step back, "I... look it's fine. I know it's not your choice. Just paint over it, but don't let me catch you around here again," he'd had enough killing for one night.

Biker released his grip, letting the kid stumble back. He somberly walked away as the terror stricken stranger made quick work covering the symbol. Revving the engine up, he noticed the elated feeling didn't return. In fact try as he might, the usually cutthroat man spent the entire way home sitting with poison in his throat and a pit in his stomach.

He arrived soon after still dripping blood while locking his motorcycle and entering the dingy apartment complex. Ignoring the strangers stares he moved to his unit, feeling his muscles weaken with every step. By the time he arrived, he was closer to a pile of shambling gelatine than a man. He slammed the door shut behind him, breathing a sigh of relief.

Not bothering to remove his blood stained clothes, Biker made his way to the shower. He turned it on, shivering as the frigid water soaked into him. As much as he wished for any kind of warmth, hot water would just bake the blood into his clothes and ruin one of the only things he cared about. Time slowed to a crawl as he sat on the cold tiles. Blood flowed from his body, swirling into intricate patterns as it flowed towards the drain.

His mind strayed to the days events. Has 50 Blessings really been recruiting kids? More importantly, how close had he come to killing one. Before the last few weeks he wouldn't even blink at the violence he comitted on a daily basis, now though he felt like there was a pile of bricks on his chest. This lifestyle was getting to him, murdering all day, partying all night. He just couldn't stop jumping to his next source of fulfilment, even if it was at the expense of innocents.

By the time he'd finally finished washing the blood off he was little more than an exhausted shell of his former self. Setting out his clothes to dry, he towelled himself off and put on a pair of sweatpants. Finally he collapsed onto the empty bed, still yearning for any warmth. Mind ablaze with worry he dozed off to sleep, with his final thoughts ringing through his brain.

_What the fuck has my life come to_

_\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -_

**August 6th 1989**  
**Miami, Florida**

Biker woke up to the sun glaring in his eyes and his body aching. He'd slept well into the afternoon and still fatigue coursed through his body. He stood up, feeling every muscle fiber creak and groan, just another reminder of his painful excursion.

He stumbled towards the bathroom, feeling every step rattle through his body. Setting aside his pink vest, he threw his now dried clothes into a laundry basket. He groaned, noticing the drops of blood that were stuck to the floor tiles, something to clean on another day.  
  
After he had finished getting ready for the day, he noticed his intense hunger pains. Nothing could build up his appetite like a long night out, even if the unspoken details of the night made him sick to his stomach. Food on his mind, he grabbed the helmet and made his way down. Much to his disappointment, even after starting up his motorcycle he couldn't seem to shake the feeling from last night. All that he felt pulling out of the garage was the familiar weight of existential dread.

Nevermind all that, now was time to focus on finding a decent place to eat, anything to take his mind off of things. Eventually he landed on a cheap local diner that was only a few minutes away. As he made his way to the restaurant, Biker did his best to distract himself from the outside world.

In fact he was so distracted that he was completely oblivious when a white van with tinted windows started to tail him. The interior of which was stuffed to the brim with masked men and weapons, each with murder on their mind.

A man wearing a rubber horse mask was talking into a chunky mobile phone, "Yeah we've got him. Just left his apartment. We'll confirm when the target is eliminated."

Another person, this one wearing a rubber frog mask nervously spoke up, "Are you sure we'll be able to do this? I mean you heard the news, five people might not be enough."

"Don't worry, when he stops we'll wait for backup. Once they arrive we'll take care of him," the horse responded, adressing the group. Knowing not to argue further the rest stayed silent, simply gripping their weapons in grim anticipation.

Biker pulled into the diner parking lot and dismounted, still unaware of the van parking just outside the adjacent building. He strolled towards the restaurant, already planning out his order. The chiming of the front door drawing attention from a waitress.  
  
Taking a seat near one of the only other customers he placed his helmet on the counter and took note of the comforting surroundings, eyes landing on the man besides him. The stranger seemed to be staring at him, before he quickly looked back down at his own hands.

"Hey there," he said, looking at the odd stranger. He was rather unassuming at first glance, with his hunched posture making him look more jacket than man.

Still focused on his hands, Jacket gave a simple nod and replied with a terse, "mm-hmm."

_Not the talkative type huh_

The waitress appeared before him, "Can I getcha anything dear?"

He thought it over while eyeing the menu, "Uh, how about waffles with some biscuits and gravy, oh and a coffee on the side. Cream and sugar please." He pulled a wad of cash from his pocket, undoubtedly pilfered from some 50 Blessings members. If he was going to risk his life he might as well enjoy the small things.

"Alright, and is that all?" she asked.

"Yeah. Thanks," he said, but already his mind was somewhere else. He looked at his neighbor out of the corner of his eye, who seemed to be preoccupied with staring at the counter but he sensed the gears turning in his head. The stranger nervously looked at Biker again, this time scanning up his body without realizing he was being watched. Was he nervous for some reason?

Covertly looking at Jacket, he noted the man's strange presence. Despite his assumption before, the letterman was actually masking a large frame, undoubtedly gained from years of training. However his other aspects didn't do him many favors though. His appearance was ragged, clothes faded from years of use, and while he had a good enough looking face it was contrasted by the dark circles beneath his eyes. Overall, his silent and nervous disposition made him seem like a man on the edge, but still he was strangely enticing.

A few more awkward glances were shared between the two before their silence was broken by the clattering of dishes. Thanks to the restaurant being utterly devoid of life their orders arrived at the same time, much to both of their delight. He'd been waiting for this, plus a break from the awkward situation was more than welcome.  
  
However that joy wouldn't last for long, because before either of them could start eating they heard a van screech to a halt just outside. The pairs' heads swivelled as they saw the van door slide open, revealing at least a half dozen armed and masked figures in the van and with even more emerging from besides the building. Time seemed to move in slow motion for the two as Biker reached for his hidden butcher's knife, preparing for a shitstorm as the front door opened.

But before he had even left his seat the stranger had already grabbed a stainless steel coffee pot, swiftly moving within reach of the oncoming assailants. Jacket slammed it into the temple of the first man, eliciting a sickening crunch and sending him hurtling backwards into the group. Not missing a beat, he slammed the pot into the second's jaw, knocking him unconscious. Before the others could recollect themselves he yanked the pistol from the collapsed strangers hands. Quickly he unloaded the gun into three others as they entered, receiving scattered fire that whizzed past him, lodging into the brickwork instead. 

Behind him Biker stared in awe, the man moved like water and responded faster than even he had. He could only watch as the stranger took out 4 armed individuals like it was nothing. Just who was this guy?

However his stunned daze ground to halt when all that came from the strangers gun was hollow clicks, the pair still had another squad to take care of and they were already just outside.

Their brief silence was shattered when outside the masked killers began wildly shooting through the windows, sending a hail of bullets and glass in their direction. The two dove for cover beneath a booth without a second to spare. Biker grabbed several throwing knives out of his vest with Jacket looking at him skeptically. After a moment the strangers stopped to reload, cursing at each other for their aim. Taking his opportunity, he lept up and threw the knives in rapid succession. Flying through the air each found a different assailant, three lodging themselves into the dumbfounded men's chests, with the fourth piercing clean through another's hand and causing him to drop his rifle.

Using his newfound cover, Jacket crawled towards the entrance and grabbed two rifles, sending one scittering to the colorful strangers feet and shouldering the other. He stayed on the ground, eyes trained on the door and finger focused on the trigger. Biker ducked down with him, hands getting familiar with the riflebb he clearly had little experience in sh.

The now splintered front entrance burst open, several of the figures funneling through thirsting for blood. Before they could notice his position Jacket let loose a storm of bullets from the ground, evicerating the strangers from the bottom half down and filling the air with a red mist. As bodies fell to the ground around him Biker left his cover, firing everything in his clip through the broken window. While his inexperienced shoulders could barely handle the recoil he managed to kill the last of the hitsquad, in the process sending scores of bullets into the car behind them.

Outside the van driver slammed the pedal, sending it hurtling away from the parking lot and presumably back to whoever sent it. Neither was fully certain why they'd been targeted, but considering the masks it was safe to assume their betrayal of 50 Blessings wasn't going to be let off the hook.

The unlikely duo sat next to one another on the broken glass, breathing heavily for what felt like eons. After a few seconds, the pair looked at each other and burst out laughing at the absurdity of their situation. Neither had been certain they would survive that encounter, in fact without the two of them they probably wouldn't have.

Though he loathed having to rely on anyone let alone a stranger, Jacket couldn't deny his amazement. What kind of idiot just jumps into a gun fight like that, and with throwing knives no less. Any other person would have ran and hid like the other customers, yet he didn't. This dazzlingly dressed stranger was an enigma, defying any attempts at understanding.

Still laughing, Jacket noticed the stranger stand up and offer a hand. Even though they had hardly even exchanged a word before, he figured someone who just saved his life didn't have bad intentions. He accepted the offer and grabbed it, realizing this simple gesture was the most physical contact he'd had in months. Nervously he pulled away, his hand still buzzing when the stranger let go.

Biker's attention wandered as the adrenaline wore off, it was at this point he realized he hadn't even eaten the food he ordered. Turning around, he was amazed to see that by some stroke of luck both of their plates had remained untouched, with only a shattered coffee cup being effected by the fight. He heard distant police sirens approach, surely alerted by some employee. Quickly he reached over the counter, grabbing several to-go boxes and tossing one to the stranger.

"If you want your food now's your chance."

After he caught the box Jacket could only stand there, astounded by how completely unaffected the man had been. Then again who was he to talk, the last time he'd done something like this the first thing he did was grab snacks. Once he felt his stomach growl he joined the stranger, grabbing as much food as possible before the police could arrive. What was truly shocking to him though was that as they both left he noticed the man leave a large stack of cash on the counter.

_I suppose you've gotta have some sense of morality._

Biker mounted his ride, still eyeing the stranger. Had he walked here? He was just running towards an alley, food in hand. If he had, the police would catch him in no time, and there's no way he was gonna be discovered as an accomplice from some random encounter.

"Hey!" his muffled voice came from underneath the helmet, "You need a ride?"

Now, Jacket was about as far from trusting as you could get. Even when he had friends he'd hesitate putting his faith in others, but at this point he was regretting not driving and the last thing he wanted was to be exposed as the Masked Maniac. Was he really willing to risk it with a complete stranger though? His mind raced as the sirens drew near.

_Fuck it._

He rushed onto the bike, gripping the strangers torso and bracing himself for a speedy getaway. Before he knew it they were off, rushing through traffic and running stoplights in an effort to beat the clock. Jacket could tell the he was an experienced motorcyclist, slipping through side streets and alleys like it was nothing. Impressed as he was he still gripped on for dear life, likely crushing the strangers ribs. He didn't doubt the man's skill set but at this point he wasn't sure if he should have just risked it with the foot chase.

Though Biker sped through the streets of Miami, his mind was distracted by the presence of the stranger. The man had been squeezing him so tightly for the past 5 minutes he wasn't certain where he ended and the man began. While he was mildly annoyed, really he was just shocked the silent composed badass was now clinging to him so desperately.

Muscle memory took the wheel as his mind danced around thoughts about the stranger. Just who was this nobody who managed to kill so many people without a second thought, and why did he seem to like that about him. Somewhere in the back of his mind there was an itch he just needed to scratch, he just needed to know more about him.

Finally he came to a standstill several miles away from the scene of the crime. They sat there, huffing in complete silence, still attached by Jackets shaking arms. After a moment he realized what he'd been doing and Jacket climbed off, clutching his container full of food in silence and embarrassment. He certainly wasn't one for physical touch.

Biker looked back at him and flipped up his visor, revealing a beaming smile, "Sorry about that bud, had to lose the cops. You alright?

He forced out a response, "uh-huh."

Looking around, Biker realized he'd accidentally brought him to a completely different side of town. "So, you need me to drive you home? I owe it to you after saving my ass."

Jacket scribbled down an address near his apartment. He still wasn't taking any chances. The man read it and motioned for him to get back on the bike.

"Hop on, time to take ya home."

This time though he took it slow, stopping at red lights and staying under the speed limit. He was clearly doing his best not to scare his inexperienced passenger. They took the ride in silence, both of their minds racing with questions and theories about the other. However by the time they made it to where Jacket wrote down, neither had come to any real conclusions.

He dismounted the bike, thankful to finally be on solid ground again. However instead of turning around and walking home Jacket just stood stock still, staring back at the strange man. He knew he shouldn't and it went against everything he told himself after the accident, but he couldn't just let him go after all that. His mind raced, trying to think of any way to keep him from disappearing forever. Struck by an idea, he grabbed his notebook and sloppily wrote something before tearing it out.

Biker took the scrap, looking closely... it was a phone number. He wasn't sure why but seeing the digits made his stomach do a summersault. "Hey, after all that, do you think I could get your name?"

After more scribbling the stranger handed him another piece of paper.

_Please call me Jacket._  
_Thank you for helping me._

He pocketed both the pieces and looked back up. _Jacket._ He let the name sink into his mind. It seems they really were more similar than he assumed. "No need to thank me kid. It's on the house, and you can call me Biker."

-end of chapter one-


	2. Matryoshka

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jacket is a touch starved himbo in this chapter and I love him for it.
> 
> content warning for the portrayal of a panic attack and some mild smut.

**August 8th 1989**  
**Miami, Florida**  
_2:43 AM_

Most of the time thoughts and ideas are just that. Intangible, ethereal, however every now and then, they'll stick. They can burrow into your head and cling on at all costs, feeding and evolving as your mind repeats it. Almost as if thoughts, like any living creature, have the base instinct to survive and grow.

Biker was having a thought like this. A simple one really, but one that had latched on nonetheless.

_Who is Jacket._

He was staring into the bottom of a Moscow Mule, the irony of which wasn't lost on him, cluttered mind distracting him from the cacophonous party he was entrenched in. This should be fun, he used to party and drink the night away like some kid, but he couldn't get into it. The only thing that kept him present was the rhythmic pounding of music coursing through his chest. He was surrounded by distractions, but all that went through his head were thoughts of the man he met yesterday.

_Who is Jacket._

Biker took a long, slow, sip from his glass, his mind just couldn't let it go. He slipped his hand in to his pocket, feeling the piece of paper he'd been given. The second he turned his back on 50 Blessings he'd unplugged his home phone, but all he needed to do was go back and plug it back in.

_Who is Jacket._

At this point he couldn't even tell if it was his thought in the first place. It seemed to go through his mind entirely of its own volition, taunting him. What he would give to be young again, to enjoy his surroundings and live in the present. He needed a distraction.

Mouth burning, he chugged what remained of his drink and joined the fray of moving bodies. He was going to enjoy himself no matter what, and most importantly take his mind off yesterday. The crowd's movement ebbed and flowed with the beat of the music, his own body soon following suit. Electronic dance music grew louder as he moved closer to the dance floor, it's pounding bass drowning out all other sounds and thoughts going through his head.

Biker's eyes met a handsome stranger's nearby, his slender frame accentuated by a mesh top and thick leather choker. As they slowly danced towards one another, Biker noticed the man had a single stud in his right ear. They met in the middle, heat flowing between the two as their bodies moved to the rhythm.

They danced more, each taking in the other with hungry eyes. Biker leaned in to the stranger, trying to speak above the thumping music, "I uh, like your earring," he was clearly rusty at this sort of thing.

The man flashed a devious grin, running hands along Bikers exposed arms. Standing on the tips of his feet, he leaned in, "Meet me in the bathroom in a minute, first stall."

Biker pulled back, if his face had been any less red from heat the stranger definitely would have noticed a blush spreading on it. This is what he wanted after all, a distraction, some fun. Still, with his hunt for 50 Blessings distracting him from all else, he hadn't done anything like this in ages. His gaze followed as the man moved towards the bathroom, mind counting down until he could follow. After a moment he followed, pushing his way through the pulsating crowd.

The bathroom was dingy, wall to wall with graffit and local zines that looked like they'd been stuck there for years. He slowly pushed the first stall's door open, a loud creak echoing through the nearly empty room. Locking the door behind him he pulled the stranger into his grasp, hand cupping his jaw.

Biker's mouth traced along his neck, hot breath making the man shiver in his grasp. He gently bit just above the choker, feeling vibrations as soft moans slipped from his throat. Slowly he made his way down their neck, hot breath and teeth just grazing skin. His mouth landed on the man's collar bone, biting firmer and sucking. It was as if the hesitant man from before had evaporated leaving him, Biker, as he knew himself.

The stranger's hands roamed along Biker's body, caressing his frame. This exploration quickly took the man's hungry hands to his hard length, feeling it's heat emanate from behind the fabric. He broke off from Biker's grasp, getting on his knees and looking up questioningly.

Biker nodded, grabbing ahold of the stall door as if to steady himself. The stranger quickly undid his pants and gripped Biker's dick, running his tongue along the shaft, and eliciting a deep groan from Biker. The man took his cock in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the tip.

Reaching downwards, Biker tangled his free hand in the stranger's hair as his mouth went up and down his length, the sensation sending jolts of electricity coursing through his body. The world faded around him as he focused on the feeling, his huffing breath, the hot wet mouth wrapped around his cock.

_Who is Jacket_

Fuck, there it was again. Why now of all times, why did his mind have to wander like this? It was like some small part this man had lodged into Bikers brain, begging to be understood. Even though he should be focused on what was happening he couldn't help but think back on their encounter. His swift and skillful movements, his laugh... his arms wrapped around him.

Jesus, he shouldn't be thinking like that, especially now. They had hardly even exchanged names after all. His grip on the stall door tightened to white knuckles in an attempt to ground himself. Below him the stranger's head bobbed, Biker's cock still in his mouth. He threw his head back, just trying to fake his way into enjoying the moment. This backfired though, when all his eyes were met with was a ceiling layered in mold and graffit, he really knew how to kill the mood.

Biker spoke up apologetically, "I'm sorry, can we stop?"

The stranger looked up in a mixture of confusion and frustration, "Seriously? Now?"

He could only shrug in response, feigning aloofness as the stranger left in a huff, slamming the stall door behind him. Biker couldn't help but understand, why couldn't he just stay focused. He sat down, solemn eyes staring at the grimy tiles and creeping rot beneath him. How much had he changed in the past few months, what happened to the high-libido party animal he'd been? His shoulders felt weighed down as if the last month alone had been lifetimes.

Biker's mind went back to the man who'd been in his thoughts all night. What the hell was that? Of all things why did his mind go there. It seemed like there was only one way to finally get over his curiosity. There was a payphone outside, all he needed to do was talk, then finally he'd be done thinking about him.

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**August 8th 1989**  
**Miami, Florida**  
_3:12 AM_

Jacket was having another sleepless night, not that it was surprising, but this time it was different. Usually he spent his late hours in torment or utter boredom. Now though, he was grinning and staring at the ceiling, repeating the last day over in his mind.  
  
He hadn't felt that exhilarated since before his coma, running around and shooting people, he was in his element. For two months it had been nothing but pain and mourning, but now, even if just for a moment he felt like himself again.

It wasn't just the violence though. That odd man Biker... that strange, colorful man. He knew that for him, the bar for connecting with people was low, but Jacket still couldn't take his mind off him. Shouldn't he have called by now though? If he hadn't by now, would he ever?

_Oh._

He was just pretending, wasn't he. That slip of paper he took was probably in the trash by now. It was fine really, just a chance encounter. Even if it had worked out it would have just ended in death, like everyone else he cared about. It was for the best.

Back to wallowing in that pit of misery already. His grin had long faded, the familiar dread of night returning. He was just so predictably dreary, he used to be solid oak and now he could hardly get out of bed in the morning. Fuck, he should be tearing the Russians apart limb by limb for what they did to his girlfriend, instead he was just laying around, a decrepit old corpse.

His self hating thoughts were interrupted by a sudden shrill ringing from a room away. He instinctively jumped in shock, expecting another hit or anonymous threat. Slowly he crept towards the living room, head abuzz with worry. Was it really the mysterious callers? After all this time? What would they do if they knew he was alive? Shit, what if that was why he'd been attacked the other day? He had been so excited he hadn't even considered why a dozen men with animal masks raised an assault on a diner. He lifted the receiver to his ear, preparing for some new threat to his life.

A muffled, strangely familiar voice came from the other end, "Hey, is this Jacket?"

_Holy shit._

"Mmhmm."

"Okay uhh, I know you don't like talking so I'll just say this. Do you want to get a drink? I can pay and all, I just figured I owe you haha, it's on the corner of Brickwell and Finch, so if you want, you can come, it's no big deal if not obviously but if you want," Biker rambled on.

"Mmhmm," Jacket tried to hide his relief, hanging up.

Quickly he raced to his car, stumbling over his feet as he ran. He was in disbelief, last time he'd gone to a bar _with_ someone was in the military, since then it was just sullen day drinking. Starting up his engine he felt the same exhilaration from yesterday's fight fill him.

With a screeching halt Jacket arrived, anxiety and excitement wreaking havoc on his insides as he stepped out. The pit in his stomach was slowly replaced by the rhythmic thumping of techno music from inside. As he entered his senses were immediately assaulted by a chaotic miasma of shouting voices, music, and lights. He scanned the room, looking for a familiar face.

In the corner he spotted Biker, leg bouncing at a hundred paces per minute as he looked around, waiting. Their eyes met, Biker flashing a relieved look and beckoning him towards the counter. As Jacket pushed through, he noticed that while Biker was wearing the same colorful clothes as before he fit right in, even looking tame in comparison to some.

In truth it was alien to him. He'd been in plenty of clubs like this before, but before he would be the only one alive by the time he was done. Now though he felt small, powerless. His sunken eyes darted from side to side, paranoid that at any moment someone would try to slide a knife into his side, or even worse try to talk with him.

Biker affectionately clasped Jacket's shoulder as he sat down, "Hey man! I was worried you wouldn't show up."

Jacket looked down at his grasp, face transforming from anxious to a strange concoction of shock and relief. Noticing the look, Biker quickly pulled away, silently cursing at himself.

"Uh, so what'll you get to drink, it's all on me so go wild."

_Any beer_

He stared at Biker as he ordered for him. It was just so easy for him, he looked like he was in his natural habitat, effortlessly conversing and blending in while still standing out. Why on earth did Biker want anything to do with him. Guilt, he supposed. That life debt was probably the only reason he'd even been invited here.

"So..." Biker tried to start any conversation, but he seemed unsure of himself for the first time since they'd met.

"Mmm?"

This was a precarious spot. Biker chose his words carefully, worried it would all come tumbling down, "If you don't mind me asking... why don't you talk?" He grimaced, that came out worse than he expected, not that there was a good way to ask.

Jacket opened his mouth, as if to give his usual wordless reaction, but no sound came out. He wanted to give any sort of response, it didn't matter if it was some sob story about his past or a one word answer but he needed to say something, anything. The truth was even he didn't know. He stared at the rapidly growing condensation on his beer, watching drops form and crawl down the glass.

Biker was worried he'd overstepped, "Sorry, that was shitty. We don't have to talk if you don't want to."

"I don't know why," Jacket said, staring straight forward. His voice was faint and raspy, he could hardly even hear himself talk with the noise around them.

Still, somehow he had heard him, evident by the surprised look he gave Jacket. Not that he could see it. Well, what now? Biker didn't want to make things any worse, but he'd spoken, maybe somehow he could learn more about him, "Well, I won't make you talk man, no need to worry."

They drank in silence, each one doing his best to take his mind of things. Jacket's mind soaked in the unfamiliar surroundings. It was a lot for him, going from the occasional empty restaurant visit to a packed club full of complete strangers. Music and a chorus of voices pounded in his ears, growing into an ocean of shrieks rattling his skull. Jesus, why had he come here, what kind of stupid reasoning made him accept this offer. He could feel his racing heart thud through his chest and in the tips of his fingers. This was a terrible mistake.

" _Don't you remember this feeling? You're going to die,"_ Richard's voice seemed to emanate from everywhere at once, penetrating his brain.

Jacket stumbled off of his bar stool, chest heaving as he pushed through throngs of people to the front door. He yanked the front door open and stumbled out of the building, letting a cool gust of fresh air hit his face. Chest still heaving he slowly slid down the wall, the brickwork carving heavy scratches on his back.

_What the fuck is wrong with me._

The door swung open next to him as Biker rushed out. He looked around frantically, all he knew was that one second Jacket had been drinking calmly and the next he looked like he was about to die. Even when they'd been in a life or death situation Biker hadn't seen that sort of look on his face.

There he was, on the ground, clutching his knees, "Shit, what's wrong are you okay? Do you need any help?"

Jacket just sat there, not responding. First he gets a pity invite, now he freaks Biker out with one of his episodes. What was wrong with him, at least when he was alone no one else would have to see him like this. A deep rotting pit of shame formed in his chest, gnawing at the core of his being - but then, a hand.

He looked up, seeing fingers with chipped blue nail polish tenderly gripping his forearm, "Look dude, I don't know what's wrong, but I'm here. Say or write anything you need me to do, and I'll help, no matter what."

Jacket faintly spoke, "Can we just sit, please."

Biker wordlessly sat down next to him, leaving an inch between the two. He had no clue what was happening, but he didn't need to. Gradually, Jacket's breathing slowed, and his heart returned to his normal pace. For some reason this time, Jacket's mind didn't race with questions when he was around him, he only felt at peace. At this moment he didn't notice the sound from inside, or the chill of the outdoors, all he registered was the heat from Biker.

Minutes passed by without either noticing, only marked by the steady flow of people moving in and out of the bar. After a while, things slowed down, taxis came and went, thinning out the crowd of party goers. The music faded and the parking lot grew sparse, leaving their vehicles standing alone. Still, they sat next to each other, simply appreciating the moment.

After some time, Jacket spoke up, voice still quiet from lack of use, "Thanks for staying."

Biker looked back at him, one eye peering from under his hair, "No problem man, you would have done the same for me." He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the frigid night air, "How do you feel now?"

"...Better"

"I'm glad"

They both sat in silence, appreciating the sounds of the Miami night. Jacket moved for what felt like the first time in ages, reaching into his pocket and grabbing a carton of cigarettes. Without a word, he offered one to Biker who gladly obliged. The pair remained, twin lights from their cigarettes dwarfed by the warm glow of the street lights.

Biker spoke up between inhales, "I should probably go home soon."

Jacket reached for his notepad, but stopped. For the first time in a long while, he truly didn't mind talking, "Got a ride?"

He looked up, staring at few remaining stars in the light polluted sky, "Nah, I was gonna get a cab but spent my last quarters calling you... I'll walk. My place ain't too far."

Motioning to his car, Jacket got up, "I can drive you, barely had half a beer."

Still looking at the hazy sky he replied, "You sure?"

"Come on," he pulled Biker by the arm, opening the gull wing doors and brushing away trash from the passenger seat, "Where to?"

"I'll tell you as we go, it's real close."

They drove in relative silence, interrupted only by the occasional direction. While they went though, Biker couldn't help but stare. Maybe he'd just had one too many, but the usually morose look Jacket wore, changed. He looked... good, as if there was a spark in his eye that hadn't been there before. Almost, handsome. The look suited him.

"This is it."

They pulled up to a grungy apartment complex, it was a lot like Jacket's little slice of heaven, at least from the outside. They sat for a moment, unsure of what was to follow.

Jacket looked at him nervously, "Should I... walk you in?"

A relieved look came across Biker's face, "Totally! If you want, you can check out my apartment, even meet my fish!"

Jacket followed closely behind, not knowing that these were the same steps the now exuberant Biker had trudged on, soaked in blood, just a few nights before. After Biker fiddled with the keys for a few seconds longer than usual, they were in.

Even though Jacket had been shocked by the club earlier, the apartment was an entirely different beast. He looked around, wide eyed, as if he'd never even seen some of the colors surrounding him. Really it was the perfect fit, he couldn't imagine anything less absurd for a man like Biker.  
  
"Admiring the place, huh? Come on, check out my aquarium!" he grabbed Jacket's sleeve and rushed over, giddier than he'd ever seen him.

Biker started pointing, "This one's Graham, that pretty one's Peter, ooh that's Oscar! And that little guy hiding behind the rock is Zack!"

Jacket smiled from ear to ear, seeing him like this was interesting. Even if it was just by a miniscule amount, Biker was becoming less distant and mysterious by the moment, "They're great, you really like them a lot huh?"

He flopped on to his zebra patterned water bed, "Yeah... they've been in my life longer than anyone," he said, staring at the ceiling.

Jacket carefully sat on the edge of the ostentatious bed, "They seem nice..." he trailed off as he admired the colorful man. Admired? No, this wasn't admiration, it was just completely platonic prolonged gaze... yeah, that's it.

Only a few seconds ticked by as they sat, each taking in the other's presence. Still it was too long for Jacket's comfort. After just a moment he averted his eyes, further examining the strange surroundings as an excuse. Biker really had the most garish taste he'd ever seen, and he absolutely loved it. Then he noticed an alarm clock out of the corner of his eye.

_5:38 AM_

Shit, had it really been that long? Jacket spoke up, "I should go, sun's gonna come up soon."

Biker sat up, looking anywhere but Jacket, "...You can stay if you want. It's really late, I've got a couch, you could sleep there or, whatever."  
  
Jacket stood up, considering for a second, "Eh, I don't really sleep. I'll be fine," he moved to the door, nervous he'd change his mind if he took any longer. Door halfway closed, he said one final thing, "Goodnight, and... thank you."

Just like that, he was gone, leaving Biker to stare at the spot he was just in. He'd gotten to know him better, talked to him, even invited him in, but still he was just as much of a distant mystery. Still though, despite everything, the night had been nice. Answers or no, for the first time in a while he felt like he knew someone who was on his level.

Jacket was like one of those Russian nesting dolls, every time he got got through a layer there was just another shell, another question. Maybe that mystery wasn't so bad though, he had a friend now, or acquaintance really. Biker flopped back down, turning towards his aquarium. His eyes followed the graceful patterns of his fish, trance like.

_Who is Jacket._

-end of chapter two-


End file.
